


The Harmonixer

by Jerevinan



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Daemons, Horror, IgNoct, M/M, Major Character Injury, Sacrifices, Shadow Hearts - Freeform, Shadow Hearts inspired AU, the Hexatheon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-02-03 06:04:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12742458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerevinan/pseuds/Jerevinan
Summary: In the graveyard of his heart, Noctis sees himself in the Crystal, faces the Astrals, and summons the power of souls gifted to him by his ancestors.No one knows about the graveyard he visits or the way the malice feeds the starscourge.No one until Ignis, who faces off the Astrals to save the one he loves.[FFXV meets Shadow Hearts, but it’s not necessary to be familiar with SH to read this.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I combined FFXV lore with Shadow Hearts, but this is not a crossover. It should be fine to read if you haven’t played Shadow Hearts or Shadow Hearts: Covenant. I tried to write it that way, so hopefully I succeeded.
> 
> In the rare case you’re familiar with Shadow Hearts, don’t expect this to be exactly like that, either. But if you're familiar with the games, you might enjoy the references.
> 
>  
> 
> [The second SH has great music if you're interested in listening while you read. Yasunori Mitsuda worked on many of the tracks for the first two games, and he's doing Episode Ignis!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxnJS3wykxY)

The scourge burns through Noctis’ veins, the agony of the daemon’s former humanity bleeding into his memory as if it is his own. The feelings of anger and bitterness seep in. It’s poison bubbling through his body, tearing him limb from limb, leaving only but a whisper of his soul behind. 

Noctis cries out. A hand from another plane touch his arm. He writhes but doesn’t pull away. A voice carries through, desperate and panicked. But it belongs to someone familiar, a person who feels like home. 

It grounds him, and he clenches through the tearing of muscles and the heat of sickness to reach the owner of that voice. His bones settle. Everything shifts back into place, the shapes focused.

The malice flares, turning his eyes red. 

“Noctis…”

Ignis grasps his arm. It isn’t _Noctis’_ arm—Noctis is now a fusion of man and daemon. Blue skin and clanking armor and a core burning with malice. But there’s still something left of his humanity, something clinging to his heavily pounding heart. 

There’s no time in the fray of battle to exchange affections or offer reassurances. The first change with a new fusion is always the hardest. It’s another step away from the person he is and toward the scourge’s influence. 

“Let’s go,” says Noctis, and he turns to the remaining daemons. 

“I’m right beside you, Noct.” Ignis lets go of Noctis’ arm and brings out his daggers. “I’ll pick off the goblins while you focus on the red giant.”

Noctis’ fusion provides a heavy sword. This form doesn’t offer him an array of spells, instead being non-elemental and relying on muscle and size. The sword is not as heavy as he expected, but its weight slows him down.

Thanks to Gladiolus, he knows to pay attention to his openings. Ignis taught him how to plan his attacks and anticipate enemy movements. The fusion gives him nonhuman strength to plow forward. It’s one giant against another.

Noctis lifts the sword as protection as the giant swings its weapon down on him. The impact presses his feet into the soft dirt. This form is not dexterous and not as big as his opponent, but it is the best asset they have in this battle. All his other fusions have been ineffective against red giants, forcing him and Ignis to flee countless battles come nighttime. Such confrontations have nearly ended their lives. If Noctis finally has a form that will put these troublesome daemons to rest, it will be the end of their struggles with at least one nocturnal adversary.

Noctis draws a ragged breath. As he relaxes, he releases the malice. It seeps into the Ring of Lucii, turning the shell of the crystal mounted on it a bright crimson. The glow pulsates. Another trip to the graveyard is urgent before it turns the color of blood.

Ignis gives him a knowing look. Although they have never spoken about the graveyard, Ignis is aware that Noctis does something that involves the color of his ring. They won’t feel safe until it returns to a soothing blue.

“Shall we rest in Old Lestallum?” asks Ignis.

Noctis nods. It’s the closest place with a hotel, and he sees no reassuring ropes of blue smoke drifting into the sky from a haven anywhere nearby. He settles into the leather of his seat and closes his eyes. The drive is quiet. Enough that he could drift off. Sometimes he naps simply to reach the graveyard, to cleanse the malice of the souls gathered in his ring. 

Before he can close his eyes, he sees his father standing at the roadside. By now, Noctis knows better than to point it out to Ignis. The first time he saw the spirit, he shouted for Ignis to stop the car. They almost collided with another vehicle as Ignis slammed the breaks in response to Noctis’ cries for Regis. Noctis leapt from the Regalia and hurtled toward the figure, but when he reached the spot, his father was gone.

His father has been dead for over a year now. The ghost of him only appears when the malice is at full capacity. Sometimes it has mocked him in its dreams. When he gets close enough, he still can never make out his father’s face. The starscourge bleeds through Regis’ eyes and leaves black trails veining out from the sockets. The spectral figure echoes Noctis’ barest thoughts, ones he thinks no one else knows—his faltering confidence, his truest feelings, his deepest affections. All his secrets are no longer secrets before this spirit. 

If Noctis is seeing the ghost, it’s a sign they must must reach Old Lestallum, and soon. They cannot take another battle. The malice pulsates red in the Ring of the Lucii, like the gentle blinking of a charging light. It illuminates the inside of the car. Both Ignis and Noctis have learned not to let it distract them, although they both know the danger it presents as the color deepens.

They pass across the bridge, the warm glow of the town a welcome sight. Ignis slows the car to the new speed limit and slides into the hotel parking lot. 

Once they’re in the solace of a quiet hotel room, Noctis peels off most of his clothes before climbing under the covers. Ignis remains near the single lamp they’ve turned on. He calls Gladiolus and Prompto to inform them of their current location and receive updates.

“How have you been?” is the last thing Noctis hears before he slips into his dreams.

~*~

The graveyard is full of dead grass and skeleton trees and several tombs identical to the real ones belonging to Noctis’ ancestors. They unlock his ability to fight using other fusions, and he only has a few of the thirteen accessible. Many of the tombs require more soul energy before they permit passage and allow him to make another soul pact.

Noctis follows the worn dirt path between the lined tombs until he reaches the crystal hovering in its clearing. Like a geode, it looks no better than an ugly rock torn from the earth. But something has cracked into it, and purple light pours out from its gaping jaws.

If he looks close enough into the opening, he can see a duplicate of himself. A second Noctis, naked and in the fetal position. Waiting, unable to react when addressed. Noctis doesn’t dare reach in to touch his clone. He’s not sure that Noctis is corporeal.

It only has one meaning for him. The crystal and his prison in it.

Death. He isn’t sure how he knows. He can never look too long or too closely at himself. All he can do is confront the sentries that await him if he walks beyond the crystal and up a set of stone stairs. The Six Astrals guard a door, and beyond the door, he has no idea what awaits. 

“The malice consumes the flesh of the young king,” says Shiva. “What does the young king wish to do about it?”

“Fight it,” says Noctis.

The red in his ring loses its crystalized form and shoots out in multiple comet shapes, circling like tornado around one another until they bond and form a hideous daemon. Something created from the scourge. Something unlike any giant or goblin he fights every night when he patrols with Ignis to protect the people. This is too close to human, yet despite that familiarity, it’s a sight too grotesque to behold. The butchering of people, sewn back together like an ugly patchwork doll. 

It vomits tar from its mouth and ambles toward him on twisted human legs, scurrying like an insect as its head jerks violently.

Noctis dives out of the way of the black bile that spits at him. He hurries to fuse with his only flying fusion. The change rips through him, leaves him gasping for breath. With a light body and wings, he kicks away from the ground and misses the next attack. The thick fluid sizzles against the dead grass and bleeds into the earth.

Noctis dives during an opening and grabs one of the human arms being used like a leg. With the slightest of pulls, it pops from the socket and hangs. A scream erupts from the monster, a hideous sound that echoes in the graveyard. 

The creature is barely crippled from losing the function of one of its legs. If the manifestation of anger could become more upset, Noctis is certain he has pissed it off. It hobbles at him, shooting more jets of inky toxins from its mouth. 

Noctis grabs another of its arms and dislocates it. The following scream rivals the first. If he were in a stronger form, he would rip the limb off entirely, but another form would have less dexterity. If he can slow the creature down, he can switch to another fusion.

It takes a while to dodge and wait for openings, but when Noctis finally manages to injure a third leg out of the six, it finally slows the monster. It cannot take a step without crying in pain.

Noctis beckons forward another fusion. He braces against the painful metamorphosis, teeth bared like an animal. He chooses a daemonic form that appears more human than most of them, sporting a katana and wearing clothes from a period in Lucis long passed. 

The length of his weapon helps keep a distance as the creature—in its death throes—begins spurting as much of its sickness from every orifice. Even its eyes bleed black. Every cut to the surface of its skin made with Noctis’ weapon ooze.

He pierces the core near its throat, the heart of a daemon filled with the hatred of humanity. It shatters like glass. The creature fades, leaving no trace as if nothing more than a bad dream. Even the pools of its blood disappear from the dirt.

The Astrals show no sign of approval or disapproval. The only reward left to Noctis is the comfort of pale blue light blinking in the mount on his ring.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some [Shadow Hearts music to accompany you while you read?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b58PdXTlzQM) For chapter two, I personally recommend [Near Death Experience](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-lkRn9HeYK8), which is the Europe battle theme.

The morning sun warms Noctis as he sits in the Regalia with the top down. He misses the chatter from Prompto and Gladiolus, but they’re on a mission in Altissia and won’t be back for weeks. Ignis sips on coffee as he sits behind the wheel, in auto-drive with his daily routine. Neither of them speaks—there’s little to say, but Noctis enjoys the comfort of their familiarity. 

They have another mission ahead of them, an endless stream of requests pouring from the concerned and scared citizens as the starscourge turns more people into daemons every day. Their next stop is near Cauthess.

What would the people think if they knew the truth about their King? For generations, the line of Lucis has had the ability to transform into fusions of both man and beast. Only one other family has ever known the truth, and they were raised to shield the kings and queens of the past, present, and future.

Noctis couldn’t hide it from Ignis. His abilities were latent until a daemon attack on him when he was eight brought them violently ripping through him. He woke up with little memory as to what he had done to the daemon that harmed him, his clothes drenched with blood and his small body cradled in his father’s arms. 

Ignis found out during the following hospitalization, when Noctis mumbled as he drifted in and out of sleep with his future advisor clinging to the bedsheets in fear he might never wake.

_“Am I a monster, Ignis?”_

_“No, you’re Noct.”_

Noctis has been asking Ignis that question for years since then. When they’re curled up in camp, holding one another to keep warm, he’ll mumble the question under his breath. Reassurances come with kisses and gentle fingers caressing his scalp. 

Prompto found out, too, simply from traveling with them. How could Noctis hide it? He only ever uses the ability at night against daemons when the four of them are alone. Prompto took it in stride, clapping Noctis on the back and making jokes to ease the burden. 

Cor knows, too, after an accident in the training room when Noctis was a little boy.

Noctis never saw Gladiolus’ first reaction to the news. Clarus must have told him when he was young. But Gladiolus often says that for every fusion Noctis acquires, he must become that much stronger in turn.

“If you keep getting stronger, you’ll never need me.”

Noctis needs Gladiolus and Prompto now. He’s grateful to have the most important person in his life with him, but his friends make their family complete. They have no one else. Not after Insomnia fell and crashed them all into a world war.

Only the royal family knew about the malice sealed inside the Citadel that was released when the city was destroyed. The starscourge feeds off the weakest emotions of mankind, and it has had a banquet since that day.

More people are coming down with the scourge. The healer of the people travels the world with her brother and other guards and tries to purge it, but she too will succumb to a similar curse as Noctis. Luna recently admitted that she too drifts further from her humanity. Sometimes Noctis wants to ask her if she has a graveyard. Does she have to purge the malice that she absorbs from those she heals? And when she does, does it abate the scourge?

But even if they both could continuously cleanse their souls, they will succumb to a painful death. Such is the fate of their bloodlines.

 

~*~

The daemons block the road before Noctis and Ignis make it to Cauthess Rest Area. Less than half a mile and they would have been safe, but the iron giants rise like a pair of sentries from the cement, smoky wisps curling around them as they ascend. Ignis pulls the car beneath a street lamp.

“We’ll have to fight them if we want through,” says Ignis.

“Yeah.” Noctis is tired. Ichor stains his clothing from previous battles of the night. They’re not far from a haven—perhaps it’s best if they fight their way through the crowd and make it to the safety of the campsite rather than push their way to the next settlement. 

It doesn’t seem as daunting of a task until they’re out of the car with daemons closing in. Noctis bites down a scream as his flesh stretches and his bones shift. His best fusion against the iron giants is the one he used the other night. He reaches for the humanity in the corner of his soul, clinging to it. It’s his only anchor. It wears the face of Ignis, smiling at him with reassurance.

_You’re not a monster._

The transformation completes much smoother than the last time he wore this skin. He uses his weapon to beat down upon the iron giants. They’re easier than their red counterparts, less flame and mettle, but they make up for it with their numbers.

Noctis swings his sword against the armor and feels the reverberations of metal clashing up his arms. But even as he pulls his sword away, he sees the damage it has left across the blue skin of his enemy. The giant retaliates by slamming a fist to the ground and knocking him off balance. Noctis’ back lands solidly against the cement. As a human, that might’ve done more damage, but his current form has thick skin, marbled by the scourge that runs through his fusion’s veins.

The giant punches against the ground again, but Noctis rolls away and climbs to his feet at a safer distance. He lifts his gaze in time to see Ignis spear the giant through the back of its neck.

Around them, Noctis hears the low buzz of bombs. The remaining giant and the cement all glow purple. Noctis needs to pick them off before they decide to self-destruct. It’s better to use no fusion than any of the ones currently at his disposal. As he currents back into his real skin, he feels all the hair on his body stand on edge from the flow of electricity in the air. 

He picks them off, one by one. One pulses with the threat to detonate after a handful of blows, the magic blasting against his skin. He muffles a scream. Ignis takes on the iron giant alone, and Noctis doesn’t want to be a distraction—if Ignis knows he has been injured, he’ll come for him.

Noctis chugs a potion while crouched behind a rock. A single bomb remains while the iron giant holds against Ignis’ blows. The bomb whooshes through the air toward the fray.

Noctis shifts as he runs. His feet lift from the ground, wings flapping at his side. His sharp talons reach for the bomb and kick it off course, turning the ire of the daemon at him. The bomb grows—like an animal puffing out to look intimidating. But daemons are not snakes or lizards with crests and precarious mortalities. They’re not even people anymore. They’re something else, and the threat it poses is not a show to scare away enemies. The daemon is out to consume all and destroy all.

Before it can explode, Noctis turns its sizzling body to ash with a series of blows from his sword.

Noctis feels the scourge clenching around him. There is a time limit to how long he can bend the souls to his use before they retaliate and take over his body. He has only been berserk a handful of times. Once, Gladiolus had to hold him down in the training room when he was ten and slipped out of his own skin and into another in the heat of anger. The tantrum came from some disagreement over Gladiolus’ critique. Cor bore witness to the transformation, and after the initial shock, obeyed Gladiolus’ screams to cram a pure leaf down Noctis’ throat.

Cor had then gone to the king, demanding to know what happened. Noctis never forgot his father’s disappointment. Regis admonished his son harshly, and Noctis caught a glimpse of fear in his father’s eyes. Fear that one day, Noctis would reveal himself to the wrong person and lose the trust of the citizens.

Noctis possesses more mastery over his fusions now, but it is rare that he ever forgets that the soul power which he harnesses is finite. He digs for a pure leaf—something to ground him a little longer to the human world—and comes up emptyhanded. 

He breaks from the form and collapses to the cement from exhaustion. There is only a little drop of power left. His humanity, nothing more than a fraying string.

His anchor, screaming behind him.

Noctis whips his gaze over. Ignis lays flat several yards away in the grass. The ground trembles as the iron giant closes the distance, but Noctis beats it back with a sword before it melts away, leaving a pool of viscous fluid on the road.

“Ignis!” Noctis hops over the railing and races to the spot on the grass.

Ignis coughs in response and begins to sit up. There’s blood seeping out across the left side of his face and his glasses lay shattered on the grass beside him. Noctis drops to his knees and cradles him against his chest, slipping a potion down Ignis’ throat.

“Thank you, Noct.” Ignis’ voice is little more than a rasp.

Noctis studies his face and the damage. “What happened?”

“The giant…” Ignis gestures at where the daemon was last spotted as if it is still there. “It clipped my face with the tip of its sword.”

The bleeding has stopped, but Ignis only opens his right eye - and then just barely. Something is wrong with the other one. Despite the assistance of the potion, it continues to bleed.

“Noct, there are pure leaves in my pocket.”

“Don’t worry about me! You’re the one who’s hurt!”

“Noct, I can’t fight. If more daemons arrive…” Ignis doesn’t need to say more. He’s right. He’s always right.

Noctis finds the packet in Ignis’ breast pocket. Noctis lets the topmost leaf rehydrate flat against his tongue while he helps Ignis to his feet. Ignis doesn’t appear to have anything wrong with his legs, no damage to any bones despite being tossed, but his footsteps are rough and plodding.

Noctis helps Ignis into the driver’s seat before popping open the trunk. The first aid kit is tucked into a corner near their camping gear. He takes a roll of bandages and returns to Ignis’ side.

“Let’s head to Cauthess first,” says Ignis, staring up at him through one eye.

“No, it’s still bleeding. Something’s wrong. How does it feel?” Noctis unrolls a length of bandage. “Here, let me…” 

He winds it around Ignis’ skull and across his eye and the bridge of his nose with trembling fingers. He swallows down an apology. The words wouldn’t be enough. He should have been paying more attention. He should have packed more pure leaves and been prepared in case he wasn’t near enough to Ignis to retrieve them.

It might have been better to avoid a fight with two iron giants and half a dozen bombs. Even with Gladiolus and Prompto at their sides, they seldom ever take on two giants unless their curatives are well stocked.

Even as the oils of the pure leaf soak against his tongue and abate the malicious spirits within him, he claws at every edge of his mind for a hint of his slipping humanity. Things have been harder to bear since the city fell and the malice spread across the world. The nights are more dangerous now than they have ever been. There is no room for error. 

A hand falls across Noctis’ arm.

“Noct, I’ll be all right. I simply need rest.”

Noctis uses the whole roll of bandages. It is a sloppy job, no better than something a child might manage, but he is fighting against time and the tremors in his hands. He hurries to the driver’s side and pulls the car away from the road. 

They leave just in time. He can see through the rearview mirror that a red giant has risen out of the ground only a few yards behind them. It stomps in anger as Noctis hits the gas and speeds away.

They make it to Cauthess Rest Area within a few minutes. Bright lights surround the edges of the settlement, creeping into the dark interior of the car. 

Everything is closed except the diner. Noctis only counts two lights on in any of the apartment buildings nearby, otherwise everything is dead. The rest area doesn’t have a hospital or anyone he can rely on to help him. He assists Ignis out of the car toward the caravan and pays the nightly fee in the slot. The door clicks as it unlocks and he pushes Ignis in ahead of him. 

“Sit down. I’ll call Luna. She’ll know what to do…”

“Noct.” Ignis eases into the window seat. 

Noctis fishes out a washcloth from the tiny bathroom and uses a bottle of filtered water to dampen it. 

“Noct.”

Noctis turns toward Ignis.

“Another pure leaf,” says Ignis, drawing out the pouch from his breast pocket.

“No. I’ll rest as soon as you’re taken care of. This one is enough. Let’s not waste them.”

“Very well, but at least throw the one in your mouth away.”

Noctis rolls the leaf into a ball with his tongue and spits it out into the nearby trash before taking the space on the seat beside Ignis.

“Let me know if this hurts.”

Noctis unwinds the bandage with care. Parts of it are damp with blood, but it isn’t as much as he thought. In the florescent lights within the trailer, Noctis gets a better look at the damage. How deep is the slice in Ignis’ flesh? Has it taken out his eye, or will he be as fortunate as Gladiolus when protecting Noctis from that drunk years ago?

“We’ll go to Lestallum tomorrow,” said Noctis. “They have a hospital.”

“All right.” Ignis sighs. “I’m sorry, Noctis.”

Anger flares though Noctis, enough to almost make him snap something he would regret later. He clenches his jaw. It isn’t Ignis’ fault, and he’s not mad at Ignis, either. He’s disgusted with himself for his mistakes. Ashamed that Ignis feels the need to apologize to him when it is Noctis who has failed them both.

Noctis feels the tears burning behind his eyelids as he wipes away the blood. A few times, Ignis hisses and pulls away. The cut has finally stopped bleeding. It isn’t deep, but Noctis can’t see what it has done to Ignis’ eye. 

“Can you open it, Ignis?” 

“I haven’t dared try.”

Noctis pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials Luna. He paces the short walkway from bathroom to the door of the caravan as he hears it dial. He rings again when no one picks up, clinging to a bloody washcloth and holding in his tears.

He will call all night until he gets an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to stretch this out to six chapters instead of five. Hopefully it won't grow more than that. I have everything mapped out for the most part, with a good chunk of it already written, but in that last bit of writing, hopefully it doesn't grow bigger. :')


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who haven't played Shadow Hearts: this could go two ways.

Noctis sits on the edge of Ignis’ hospital bed and waits with Umbra curled at his feet. He strokes Ignis’ mussed locks from his face and studies the damage for any sign of infection. The bundle Luna sent with Umbra included antiseptic and bandages. He used some of them on the long drive to Lestallum’s hospital.

Ignis spent most of the car ride sleeping. He does so now that the doctors and nurses have finished fussing over him. All they can tell Noctis is that Ignis’ left eye is badly damaged. 

He might not ever be able to see out of it again.

Noctis doesn’t want to leave Ignis’ side. When a daemon attacked him as a child, Ignis never left him. He vows to show the same devotion. He hovers a little too close whenever a nurse comes in, and some of them have asked Noctis to give them some room. But he wants to care for Ignis, to attend to his wounds and whisper soft reassurances in his ear.

He hasn’t slept well. They avoided battles along the way to town, though, and Noctis made sure to have another pure leaf when the cat nap he took did not help him. The ring glows a taunting orange. Malice hibernates and sanity slips from him. The only one who tells him he’s human, often with caresses and soft kisses, is deep in sleep.

When his heavy eyelids won’t allow him to stay awake any longer, he crawls into the hospital bed beside Ignis and snuggles as close as he can.

 

~*~

Ignis stands on a curving dirt road. Tombs line both sides. He checks the doors to each as he passes, but they’re all locked. 

Has he died? Did the iron giant do more damage than he realized? If this is the afterlife, he wonders what wantonness in his life wrought this outcome. There is no sunlight—only cloudy skies of dark gray lined with an even darker gray. The air is damp and smells of cold stone and dirt, like a cellar. 

There’s a faint glow in the distance. It shimmers purple, drawing Ignis further up the road. 

His breath catches as he reaches the source. The crystal of legend, used over a century ago to seal malice in the Citadel. He once saw an illustration of it in the Citadel library, its colors depicted in famous paintings throughout history. There’s something ominous about its presence here. Some say the crystal was locked inside the Citadel and destroyed when Insomnia fell, but Ignis never remembers any mention of its presence while growing up alongside Noctis. When the two explored forbidden passages in the Citadel, before Cor or someone else would whisk them away by the ears, he never saw or sensed it.

If it had been hidden there, surely Lucis could have used it as protection against Niflheim? 

The crystal is dark except for one gash, where shards illuminate the area in lavender splendor. Beautiful but for the figure Ignis sees shelled within. 

_Noctis._

Not _his_ Noctis, but one left naked and vulnerable. This replica doesn’t move or interact with his environment, and his eyes remain closed. He is almost like Ignis’ beautiful, sleeping king. Almost. Ignis can’t place what unnerves him about the cloned version of his beloved.

An icy wind creeps up Ignis’ back. No, not wind. There is no wind in this place—no sunlight or stars, no living plants. 

Ignis turns around. Up a set of stone steps lies a door, and around it, six figures he recognizes from every book of Cosmogony—the Six Astrals. Smaller versions than what he has been taught about their true size. They’re no bigger than any human here, whereas Bahamut could crush a man with his hand and Ramuh could tower above mountains.

Ignis would think them merely illusions, but the cold that seeps into his bones tells him otherwise. Shiva stands the closest to him, shielding the fires that roll from Ifrit’s body. Blocking how Ramuh, Titan, and the others might affect Ignis. 

She glides down the stairs as he travels up them, meeting him halfway. The stones beneath her frost, spreading fractal designs like winter’s kiss beneath her feet. She pressed an icy fingertip to his lips. He freezes in place. Not from the cold, but from his awe. 

“Are you here for his sake?” she asks.

“Yes.” He doesn’t know how he has come to this place, or where he is, but it is for Noctis. “But why am I here? Where am I?”

“The graveyard in the young king’s heart. A place created by one haunted by the taking of souls.”

Ignis remembers the ring, and how the light in its socket throbs like the pounding of a fresh heart after battle. Is this the place Noctis visits when he sleeps? That does not offer any reassurance, even if it means Ignis is only resting and not dead. Even if this isn’t the afterlife, and this is the plane Noctis visits in order to empty the ring’s stores of malice, it is no wonder Noctis slumbers whenever he can otherwise. 

“Why am I here?” asks Ignis. His lips sting from Shiva’s touch, making it difficult to talk, but answers are more important than his pain.

“You’re the one closest to his heart.”

The thought spreads warmth through his chest, but it does not warm the bite of cold against his skin.

“Malice was released from one of its prisons, and since then, it has spread across Eos, feeding the scourge. The young prince suffers from the scourge each time he fuses with the daemons, and with more daemons, does his sickness grow.” Shiva gestured toward the crystal. “Look now that you might see his burden.”

Ignis descends the steps slowly, caught between a need to know the situation and a deep-rooted fear that he will never be the same if he looks. The ominous feeling weighs upon his shoulders. It is too hard to turn his head and see the truth, but with a deep breath, he peered into the jaws of the crystal.

The Noctis sleeping within no longer looks like a replication of the real man. His skin bleeds tar, his eyes burn like the red of the Ring of the Lucii when malice is at its highest. 

“If he stops fusing with monsters, will this end?”

“How will he help others, if he does not use the strength blessed to his family?”

Ignis feels the taste of bile in the back of his throat. He jerks his head away, unable to gaze at the daemon form of his most important person. Should he damn the people whose malice in their hearts has left them vulnerable to the scourge? Should he care so little for those who do join the fight, whose hope rests in their king?

“What can Noctis do?” demands Ignis. He thinks of the little boy who smiled when they were introduced as children, whose loneliness made him Ignis’ permanent shadow. The boy who detests vegetables even into adulthood, who screams into the dark until his voice is hoarse for the ghost of a father who died over a year ago. “Why him?”

“This is the blessing and the curse of the Lucii.”

The royal family has seldom ever aged past sixty. Before Insomnia sealed the malice in the Citadel over a century ago, kings and queens often died before they were thirty, leaving behind their young children to the care of nursemaids. They avoided war during that peaceful time, until Niflheim began its campaign for more territories three years ago. Had the empire known what they were doing when they tore down the gates of the city and opened the chamber at the top of the Citadel? Did they have the crystal, if they found it locked inside?

“The malice will feed the scourge in the young king’s body, and he will succumb to the mercy of death. Such is the fate of the one who collects souls for power.”

“Mercy?” snaps Ignis. “He uses this power to help people, and in turn it destroys him enough that killing him would be considered merciful? True mercy is an act of the gods to help the people, so they live happily and together! Ripping his life away is not a mercy!”

He doesn’t trust the Astrals. They had never been described as benevolent gods. Seldom do they gift mankind without demanding something in return or cursing it. 

“Did you do this to him? To his family?”

Shiva says nothing, but her silence is also an answer.

“He will not die,” promises Ignis. “I will not allow for it. I would do anything to keep him alive…” Ignis takes a deep breath. His feelings for Noctis have never been given a voice until now. He uses his fingers, his mouth, his gaze, his loyalty. Gladiolus and Prompto know, but they have the tact to never to bring it up. Noctis needs an heir. Ignis cannot give him one. He will always be a lover on the side, never a lover who spends every night in Noctis’ bed and every day sitting beside him on the throne.

An heir. How cruel, to bring a child into a world where every battle would bring them closer to death as malicious souls use them as a vessel and leave behind the kiss of blight. Mercy is ending the wretched line and sparing future sons and daughters from experiencing the suffering known to their ancestors. 

“There is a way.” Shiva’s voice is but an icy whisper.

 _Do not trust Shiva. Do not trust any of the Astrals._ Ignis knows this, and yet his curiosity and his affections for Noctis outweigh his reason.

“You could trade your life for his.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine my fucking surprise that I wrote this chapter before Episode Ignis (and the chapter ahead of it was posted before that) on the Monday evening before the streams aired. And I was like, “I feel like I wrote Ignis trading his life for Noct’s but them doing something about it, this is SO FAMILIAR!” Anyway, this doesn’t have nearly as happy an ending as the one I have adopted as my personal ending, but I assure you…it won’t be stupidly sad either? 
> 
> I had to add another chapter to this, too.

Red pulses along the rims of Ignis’ blackened vision. There is air, and it fills his chest, and yet he can’t breathe—finds himself gasping as his sanity slips away. Perhaps this is what it feels like for Noctis before he has a pure leaf. But even as Ignis finds their stash and lets the herb settle flat against his tongue, the panic doesn’t abate.

Now he has wasted a precious resource. One Noctis requires so desperately in their battles. 

The thought only upsets Ignis more.

It’s the loss of sight in one eye, the removal of his bearings. He has always known where things are. Where he is going. Now he bumps against the rails of his hospital bed on his left side and lets out frustrated sighs and grunts. Bandages wrap around the eye, but he knows the hard truth: even if the gauze is removed, the vision in his left eye will not return.

At least he can still see at all. He makes Noctis sit to his right, always asking him to draw the blinds so the sunlight doesn’t interfere with the view. Noctis hasn’t properly shaved in days, though, and it’s an adorable scruff that—for the first time in days—makes Ignis laugh.

“I’ll shave it,” Noctis grumbles half-heartedly.

The stubble scratches against Ignis’ skin when Noctis kisses him. 

Ignis isn’t sure how to broach the topic of what he dreamt or the details he leeched out of Shiva before he made a pact with the Astrals. For now, all he says is that he would like to resume their missions. They will find time later to discuss the grim details. The privacy of the car would be preferred to a public hospital. Noctis will be furious when he finds out, but they have time while they wait out Ignis’ recovery. That doesn’t mean there isn’t a queasy feeling that settles within Ignis’ stomach. 

Or maybe that is the dreadful hospital food. It isn’t the worst, but even Ignis’ willingness to sample extraordinary foods has been pushed to its limit. The strawberry glaze over his pancakes every morning is nothing but sugar and artificial flavoring, and the sandwiches are always filled with heavily salted meats and bland tomatoes. 

The doctors find Ignis an uncooperative patient, and their job is made worse by Noctis’ frequent questions. They both pester, one hoping to hear good news while the other simply wants to be free from the confines of a hospital bed and uncomfortable gown. Despite having nothing else to do, neither of them has slept well.

Ignis is afraid to, for fear he’ll visit that place—that graveyard—again. He frequently holds Noctis’ hand, but the king hasn’t worn the ring in days. Ignis doesn’t want to ask about it for fear that if they start on the subject, more words will come tumbling out.

According to Shiva, Noctis doesn’t know he will die. A part of him wants to, if becoming a monster is all that is left for him. 

But there is no mercy in death. Not when there exists another way, and Ignis is determined to find one. Ignis promised Shiva an exchange on the gamble that Noctis would know the right time to come save him. That tightrope they walk… How long do they have, before it snaps?

If only the words wouldn’t turn to sand on his tongue. He gulps down a glass of water, one eye on Noctis and the other throbbing heat through his skull as the painkillers wear off. The nurse will be in soon to give Ignis another dose, and it’s all he can do to bear it until he’s given another shot.

~*~

Several nights pass in miserable slowness and boredom. The days are not nearly so bad. Noctis reads Ignis to sleep, going through old publications of fishing magazines he unsurfaced from Lestallum’s public library. Ignis finds it much easier to close his eyes to the sound of his king’s reading voice. 

Talcott and Iris visit when they’re not busy with other things. Iris brings sweets, and Talcott brings many desperately needed distractions. The little boy spreads his grandfather’s old journals over Ignis’ legs, and the smell of the old pages drifts to Ignis’ nose and overrides that of the bleach used on the hospital bedding. It makes him feel sleepy and longing for those days in the Citadel library with Noctis, poring over books about the cosmos or hiding from the nurse. 

Talcott’s enthusiasm about history lasts until Iris herds him back to their shabby apartment. 

The sun rises and falls, ticking off the days. Ignis notes them all with an increasing unease. It turns out the problem with his stomach is related to nerves, not food—Noctis has been kind enough to smuggle him meals from Iris’ kitchen when Iris cannot bring them herself. 

Ignis tucks away the evidence of one such meal on the other side of a curtain when the nurse enters with the doctor on call behind him. Noctis and Ignis both sit up to attention.

“You’re allowed to leave tomorrow morning,” says the doctor. “I’m discharging you then. You’ll need to be back here in another week for someone to check how well you’re healing. And you need to redress the bandages daily.” He gestures over his own eye with a wave of his fingers.

He gives Ignis a bottle of painkillers to last him for the next week.

“No fighting right now. And no driving.”

“None?” Ignis stares up at the doctor blankly for a minute. “Oh, of course.” He feels a sharp pain in his chest. He did enjoy driving the Regalia, but to have lost that privilege hurts more than expected. After some time, he dares ask, “Never again?”

“No.”

“Then my sight will never return in this eye.”

The doctor inhales rather loudly and wheels over a chair to Ignis’ bedside. He clings to the corners of his clipboard with one set of fingers. “You might be able to see some vague shapes, depending on the light, but your sight is almost completely gone in your left eye.”

Noctis reaches over and cradles Ignis’ hand between his palms. 

“Your other senses will sharpen to make up for the loss,” says the doctor. “It will take some time to adjust to the impairment, but I imagine you’ll have sharper senses of hearing and smell.”

“Guess you can make even better food that way,” says Noctis in a comedic tone. A lovely attempt to lighten the mood, but it does not work. 

“For now, I suggest you avoid battles.” The doctor’s voice takes on a sterner tone. “No fighting for at least two more weeks, and if I can convince you to go a month—”

“No.” They don’t have time to wait that long. The daemon threat rises daily, and there are too few hunters out on the field to cull it properly. Two weeks could have disastrous results for the people trying to etch out a living in the rural parts of Lucis. If farmers are attacked by daemons, there will be less food. There have already been threats of rations from the Niffs who have taken over Insomnia.

And the malice continues to spread like a sickness across the land, planting itself like seeds in the hearts of man.

“I thought as much.” The doctor frowns. “Two weeks, Ignis.” He holds up two fingers to emphasize his point.

“Two weeks,” agrees Ignis. He can’t help it if he misses by a day or two and starts early.

~*~

Noctis drives them to Meldacio to speak with some of the hunters and explain to them the situation. Not that they need words—Dave and Ezma can tell from the patchwork of gauze on Ignis that something happened.

“Those giants will get you,” says Ezma as she hunches over and grinds a knife against a stone. Years ago, she used to be a seasoned hunter. Now she sits and does what she can from the porch of her offices, trading field work to pen out bounties and send dispatches to other hunting camps.

Ignis and Noctis rent out the caravan for the night and sit outside. After being stuffed in a hospital bed, the last thing Ignis wants is to be within another set of four walls while he’s awake. The evening buzzes with the sound of nocturnal insects, loud and mocking in Ignis’ ear.

“Noct.” His heart pounds in his ears. “I’ve seen the graveyard.”

Noctis glances first at the ring on his finger—which pulses a deep orange—and then only fleetingly at Ignis’ face before he bows his head. He lattices his fingers together in front of him.

“When?”

“At the hospital. I didn’t tell you then because I wanted some privacy, but we need to talk about it now.”

Noctis hesitates. “How much…” His thumbs tighten down on their grip. “How much did you see?”

“The tombs—I didn’t go inside, but they lined a road that eventually led to the crystal. I saw you sleeping within. And…”

“You met the Astrals.”

“Yes.” Ignis’ heartbeat quickens. “What’s behind the door, Noct?”

“I don’t know.” An honest answer, one heavy with fear. “Something I’m supposed to meet. Something that…”

“Might kill you?”

Noctis gives Ignis one stiff nod. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“I need you to think about it.” How can Ignis find the words and be forgiven for what he has done? “Noct.” 

Something his tone causes Noctis to lift his head and meet his eye. Noctis’ pupils dilate.

“What is it? Did you find something out?”

Ignis is the one who cannot face Noctis. He stares at the ground by his boots. His head swarms with dulling thoughts as the painkillers he took at lunchtime begin to wear off. The bottle rests in his pocket. He makes no move to take the next dosage. If he gets up now, he might not do what has to be done.

It’s such an important detail—something crucial to their survival—and yet it hurts to say it.

“Ignis?”

“Noct, I’ve…” Ignis takes in a deep breath and resists curling inwardly like a child. He can be composed. He watched the fall of Insomnia, witnessed the Niffs murder his king on the throne, and ran unflinchingly through the hallways of the Citadel to protect his prince. He has taken lives without regret, because doing so meant keeping Noctis safe. But this time… 

This time it’s his own life he has sacrificed for the king. He doesn’t want to leave Noctis anymore than he can stand the thought of Noctis leaving him.

“Did you do something?” Noct’s voice raises, strained and tearful.

“Whatever waits behind the door for you now waits for me.”

“You didn’t.”

“There’s a way we can defeat it, but the Astrals only know how, and they won’t tell me.”

Noctis slams his fist against the table between them, causing soda to slosh out from his plastic cup. 

“Why would you do that?” Noctis sucks in a shaky breath.

Ignis shakes his head, but everything around him and the situation becoming increasingly dizzying. He grips his forehead and grimaces. 

“Noct... I need to take my painkillers…”

“Shit.” Noctis fetches a glass of water and watches as Ignis gulps down a capsule from his bottle.

“I don’t feel well. I think we ought to finish this discussion another time.”

“Yeah. You have to take better care of yourself. You should know better.”

Yes, Ignis does know, but he has made more mistakes than anyone lately. First his eye, and then… No. He refuses to see his bargaining with the Astrals as a mistake. They will find a way before it is too late.

~*~

Ignis spends most of the evening throwing up and gulping down water in-between. 

The pain throbs across his face, and it is only from exhaustion that he eventually passes out as the little spoon in Noctis’ arms. The two should be making love after a night of successful hunting, as they did before the accident.

The ring has been tucked away inside a drawer, but Ignis can feel the malice beating within its prison like a heart. It persuades nightmares from every corner of Ignis’ mind. They hardly play out the fears inside of his head, however. It’s a retelling of the events in Insomnia. They’ve been attacked, and Regis lies dead on the throne. But in this version, he feels Noctis’ hand slip from his somewhere along the way. He goes to find him, but several Imperial soldiers block his path and demand he play a strategy game with all of them as the pieces. When he fails to move one of them to the correct position, they close in on him with their weapons swinging.

Ignis wakes up covered in sweat. He cannot bear the pain for much longer as he lays in the dark of the back room of the caravan on that musty mattress. He grips his skull against and holds back whimpers.

He wants to tear the ring out of its hiding place and throw it somewhere far from them. He never wants Noctis to use the souls of daemons again. The Astrals have taken enough from them. The Niffs have stolen their home. What is left for them? 

Unless they fight to gain it all back. And they _must_ fight.


	5. Chapter 5

“We should fight the Astrals.”

Noctis slows the car. “Come again?”

“Take on the Astrals. Every bloody one of them.”

The two have barely spoken most of the day. Not since the confession in Meldacio. It is almost evening now, and this is what Ignis chooses to break the silence with, is a declaration of war. Ignis suspects he might be too tired for sane and focused thought. They should find a place to stop somewhere to rest instead of trying to reach Hammerhead before nightfall.

“How?” asks Noctis.

“I don’t know. Go to their alters, curse them down from their places, and fight them head on?”

Luna would know how to contact the Astrals, but only Umbra can locate her. Even if he does send a message, that doesn’t guarantee Luna will agree to meet up with them. 

“Noct, you must deal with the malice until then.” 

Noctis tries to cover his ring finger with the others, one hand still tight on the steering wheel. The orange glows between his fingertips. 

“It doesn’t matter,” says Noctis, his voice tight. “It’s not like we’ll be fighting any daemons for a while. I’ve been busy. Once things quiet down, I’ll look after it then.”

Ignis sighs and leans back in his seat. Noctis has been busy with taking care of him. With driving. They only need encounter a handful of trying enemies or a few waves of smaller ones before it turns the color of blood, and daemons could appear in their path at any time.

“What happens if it stays red?”

Noctis shifts noisily in his seat. “I see my dad,” he says softly after a while. “But it’s not him. His face is all messed up. He’s been afflicted with starscourge.”

“Noct, your father is dead. We witnessed his death, and the marshal confirms he found…” Ignis decides it best not to repeat the grim details; Cor told him more than he relayed to Noctis, in order to spare him. 

“He has dark hair, like when I was younger.”

“An illusion?”

“Maybe. Sometimes I want to wake up a kid again just so I can be with my dad—and with you. We used to have so much fun back then.”

Ignis purposefully turns his head as far as he can so he can catch a glimpse of Noctis’ nostalgic smile. 

“You think these illusions stem from that desire?”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Noctis turns the Regalia into the parking lot of the Crow’s Nest north of Alstor Slough. The sky turns salmon pink with streaks of purple clouds as the sun begins to set. Ignis hoped they would make it to Hammerhead before dusk, but they’ll have to wait it out in another grimy caravan. He ought to be turning back for Lestallum to make his follow-up appointment, but he has decided that he has had enough of hospitals.

They sleep beside one another, Ignis wrapped securely in Noctis’ embrace. The ring is nowhere in sight, and somehow Ignis falls—with some struggle—to sleep. 

A nightmare creeps in from the shadows. He has seen many scourge victims in his lifetime, and each time it hits him with fear and a deep reminder of his finite time on their star. Ignis wakes up in the middle of the night, clawing at the bandages over his eye. His nails rake harshly against the skin of his upper cheek and along his eyelid, light lines of blood in their wake. All he wants is for it to be daytime, but according to his watch, it is only three in the morning. Sweat soaks his pillow. He peels off the sheet and slides away from Noctis. 

An hour later, he feels chilly again and drags a blanket across his trembling shoulders.

By morning, he sympathizes even more with Noctis’ frequent exhaustion.

As he’s brewing coffee, he hears a whine outside the caravan door. He swings it open, taking in a deep breath of fresh air, so different from the heady scent of old wood and stale cigarette within the camper. A nose nudges his leg on his left, and Ignis has to turn his head to see what it belongs to. 

“Umbra.” He bends down to scratch the dog’s ears. Umbra’s tail thumps against the pavement. 

He doesn’t feel up to cooking while he waits for the painkillers he took upon waking up to finally kick in. It doesn’t help that his eye itches terribly beneath the bandages. He grabs cup noodles and a can of wet dog food at the convenience store before returning to the caravan with Umbra at his heels. 

Noctis continues to sleep. Ignis lingers in the doorway, staring into the darkness and looking for the pulsating orange light from the ring, but Noctis has tucked it from sight. Perhaps as he rests, he will visit the graveyard—but doesn’t he need to wear it? And if so, there would be a pale green shining off Noctis’ fingers, for he would have no reason to hide it.

Ignis is as afraid of the mysterious Regis that appears when the malice accumulates to full capacity. If Noctis confronts him, what will the dead say? What will the dead do? What can the dead offer to Noctis that the living doesn’t?

~*~

They take caution on the way to Hammerhead. When they reach a blockade into Leide, they are forced to make their way through rough terrain on foot with the car tucked away in an old shed. The detour puts them several hours behind. 

They don’t reach Hammerhead before nightfall. They don’t even make it to one of the havens before daylight dims to darkness. Ignis sees the runes glowing in the distance, a hazy smoke trailing up to the star-sprinkled sky, but they’re at least a quarter of a mile from it when goblins roll out from the ground in a sudden purple mist.

Ignis cannot see on one side, but to Noctis’ credit, he puts himself on Ignis’ blind side. The two of them face off the daemons, back-to-back. Goblins are no small matter to the unpracticed, but their training gives them an upper edge even with Ignis’ disadvantage. Ignis spears one against a rock, its laugh choked by the ichor pooling in its throat. It disappears in curls of smoke, leaving the tip of his lance free for Ignis to smack another away from him.

The goblin falls on its back, kicking up dust. One push off the ground has it upright within a few seconds. It hops from foot to foot, giggling as if this is no more than a game. 

The throbbing pain in Ignis’ eye socket makes him gasp for air. He is pushing himself, as the doctor warned against. If they can cull most of the enemies and run from the rest, it isn’t too far to safety. The necessity to make it to a haven and knowing what they gamble feeds the adrenaline, and Ignis finds the strength to pierce the goblin to the ground with a jump. He can only imagine the lecture he would get from the doctor for pulling that stunt, but the enemy is dead. They can continue on.

“Let’s make haste,” gasps Ignis, grabbing Noctis’ hand and tugging him through the brush. 

Something glimmers in the field between them and their destination. It starts off a sliver of sparkling light before it rises up out of the seam in the air. Arms extend out, head poised toward the sky, feet on tiptoes as they hover inches from the ground. Snowflakes glimmer around her figure.

“Shiva,” whispers Noctis, but Ignis knows it as well. She is in the same small form as her graveyard appearance. 

Her icy gaze stares into Ignis. “You must follow the right order to save him.”

Ignis doesn’t know about any order, but fuck the gods and their cryptic words. Fuck the gods and their need for a life.

“What order?” he asks.

“The ring glows red at this hour.” Shiva nods her head at Noctis, who removes the ring from the pocket of his trousers. Blood red, deep and churning, illuminates in Noctis’ palm.

An awful feeling sinks into Ignis’ gut. “Noct…”

Noctis closes a fist around the ring, but even through his fingers, the color glows ominously.

“Five figures shall appear unto you. First came water, and from it rose the land. Above the land, storms began to form, bringing rain and lightning with them. Mankind grew crops along the riverbeds, where they made fire, and she who came last stole away the pyre with her winter’s kiss.”

Ignis pays close attention to her words. Leviathan would appear first. But where was Bahamut, the sixth? Would he be last?

“What do we need to do?” His voice rises. “Are we meant to fight you?”

Shiva doesn’t answer. She disappears though the seam, which folds around her before leaving no trace that she was ever there—not even frost upon the ground where she levitated.

Ignis turns to Noctis, who stares down at his red ring.

“I want to see my dad,” says Noctis. There’s something childish and broken in the way he speaks that concerns Ignis.

“Noctis, this might be for the better.” Ignis doesn’t believe the words as he speaks them; if he does, he has different reasons for seeing the benefit in their situation. “We might have a chance to be together if we take them on in the right order.”

That is not how the ghosts of the Astrals arrive. They are nothing more than spirits—tiny versions of the gods who appear no bigger than man. Ignis and Noctis dodge Titan first and then Ifrit before they collapse onto the stones of the haven. It glows blue. Ignis traces his fingers along one of the runes. It is far more inviting than the humming red of the ring. 

They pull out their sleeping bags and lie near the fire. Noctis rolls the ring around in his fingers, eyeing the hollow until Ignis snatches it away, unable to bear looking it any longer.

~*~

They reach Hammerhead in the middle of the following morning, the sun hot against their backs. They slept badly and their bodies ache. Ignis’ eye throbs worse than ever. Painkillers only help minimally. 

Cid lectures them as soon as they arrive, and once he has finished his reprimands, Cindy chimes in with her own round. They’re herded into the back office of the garage, where Cindy redresses Ignis’ wounds and forces him to take his antibiotics and painkillers. As soon as she is back to work, Ignis fishes around the desk for a pen and paper. He immediately writes down the list of Astrals in the order Shiva told them the night before.

Noctis glares down at the pad. “You rest first. Two weeks. And I’m adding a few days since you fought last night.”

“We stay in Hammerhead until I’m ready to fight again,” promises Ignis. “We can find Leviathan at Galdin, near the ocean. Next, we’ll need to fight Titan—he’ll be easy to draw out in Leide.”

“They arrived out of order last night, when they showed up.”

“Yes, we’ll have to be cautious not to fight them in the wrong order. I suspect Bahamut is last.”

“No,” says Noctis, not meeting his gaze. “There’s something more. I can feel it.”

“Whatever is behind that door?” asks Ignis, thinking of the graveyard again. 

Noctis nods.

“Fine. We’ll fight whatever waits for us there.”

 

~*~

It takes several nights to rest, and several more to fight the Astrals in the correct order. They appear even during the day, and it doesn’t take long for Ignis to understand they’re copies—not the true Astrals. They take on Leviathan by Galdin first, summoning her from her ocean. Like the other Astrals, she is not in her full form, or the entire port would have been wiped out.

She is harsher than Titan, who follows her in the dusty plains of Leide. Rain batters against the hood of the Regalia on their way back to Lestallum as they head for the hospital to finally make up for Ignis’ appointment, and Ramuh appears before their car in a streak of lightning. 

Next is Ifrit, who greets them closer to Lestallum. He is the toughest one of all—an even greater adversary than Leviathan. Much hatred for mankind still rankles within his fiery soul. His anger burns against Ignis’ skin, but the drinking of a potion works like aloe. 

Shiva greets them again after Ignis and Noctis have finished their business in Lestallum and are headed for Meldacio again. 

“The Draconian awaits at the door,” says her copy from her crumpled, defeated state on the ground. “Go to the Graveyard. He is but one battle before the last.”

She doesn’t state how either of them can reach the graveyard before she fades away. Ignis has not revisited the graveyard and doesn’t know how he did it the first time. When he turns to Noctis, he is only met with a shrug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t going to write every battle out in detail, or this fic would be 90% battle scenes. So I skipped through most of them. Between the ones at the beginning and the ones in the following chapter, I think that would be boring to read.
> 
> Besides, as stated, these Astrals are only copies.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting the last of this up! Just one more chapter after this one. :)

Noctis clings to Ignis in his sleep, fingernails raking through the soft cotton of his shirt. Behind him, the fans oscillate on the wall, doing little more than pushing around the humid air in the Leville hotel in Lestallum. Pipes clatter and clank as people use the baths in other rooms. Noctis hears every noise, every sneeze. 

It takes forever for him to drift off. His hair is soaked with sweat and clings to the back of his neck. He tosses about and sighs out his frustration often. He needs to reach the graveyard. The ring shines blood red on his finger, and all he can think about is the pact Ignis has made with the Astrals to save him. They have no solutions, and there is still one more Astral to fight. 

But when he closes his eyes, he isn’t taken by sleep and transported to the graveyard. Time is running out for them—and worst of all, Noctis doesn’t know how much of it they have left. It could be days, weeks. Noctis might wake up and find Ignis has passed away during the night. The graveyard might have the answers if he explores it. If only Noctis could sleep…

Well into the morning, Noctis finally slips out of consciousness. He doesn’t notice right away that he has reached the graveyard. His body must have needed rest before he could take on Bahamut—and he knows the sixth Astral they must fight is waiting for him here.

Noctis adjusts his heavy eyes and peers around. He is back on the path between the tombs. The air around him is heavy, crushing down like a weight upon his heart. A new tomb sits at the end of the walkway. When Noctis glances at the plaque on the stone door, he reads a name that makes his stomach lurch:

Ignis Scientia

No, they cannot have Ignis. They will not claim his life this time. Noctis passes by the crystal, a feeling of dread gathering in the pit of his stomach. He moves up the stairs and notices that Shiva does not come to meet him. 

At the top, by the door, a copy of Bahamut is resting on the ground. He looks small in a human-sized form. Judging by his appearance, someone has already beaten him up. The other five of the Hexatheon are missing. 

“He is beyond those doors now,” says Bahamut. “The pact has been made.”

“No!” 

Bahamut’s copy disappears, and the air begins to change—as if something invisible is living inside of it. The pressure closes in on Noctis. The Astrals cannot fit in their true forms within the graveyard. Instead, they have become it, and they’re using the oppressive air and the growing rumble beneath his feet as a deterrence from reaching whatever is on the other side of that door.

They’re trying to keep him from _Ignis_. 

Noctis takes off at a run. Never before has he wished to face what lies on the other side. The terror grips him now, but it is overridden by one fear even stronger: losing Ignis. He bangs his shoulder against the door, expecting it won’t give easily, but both sides part and let him tumble into the darkness. 

It takes a minute for him to focus on his bearings. Despite the lack of light, his vision on Ignis lying before another man is clear, as if the two have a spotlight upon them. He rushes forward to stoop down next to Ignis and help him to his feet.

“I’m here,” he says, sucking in tears. 

Ignis grips his arm and stands. “I know. Why?”

“To save you,” says Noctis. 

“To save him?” The other man laughs. Noctis finally raises his head to get a proper look at the stranger. He has auburn hair beneath his hat, and the scourge seeps from his eyes like the wax from a candlestick.

“Who are you?” asks Noctis.

“Ardyn Izunia.” Ardyn bows extravagantly, flipping his hat in his hand. As he straightens up, he tips it back onto his head. “Ignis has offered his soul to me in exchange for yours, and I shall have it.”

“No, you won’t!” 

“This is a sacred ceremony, and I’m afraid you’re simply not invited. He did agree to trade his life for yours. Do you wish to reverse that?”

Ignis stumbles between them, arms held up to protect Noctis. “No!” 

“Ignis, please—I can’t lose you!” Noctis pulls at one of his arms, tugging him closer and away from Ardyn.

“The scourge ravages the world and will take all of you with it,” says Ardyn. “You nearly lost your sanity, and in that brief moment, he almost died in battle anyway. Why not let me have him? This is the ritual for all those born within the line of Lucis, that they will someday succumb to the daemons they harbor within them—just like I did. Well, unless they die first. Pity about your father. His soul was close to becoming mine as well.” 

Noctis holds back the urge to throw up. This is the gift of his family? To help others as a harmonixer and die in this dark, inhospitable hell? 

“We’ve always used our powers for good,” shouts Noctis. “We’ve always protected the people, and for what?”

“I said the same, when it came my turn,” says Ardyn. “Ask the Astrals. They require it. Soul pacts have a cost, and they’re the ones who’ve created this endless cycle of malice and daemons and harmonixers. Think of this as a mercy and give your souls to me.” 

“No, there has to be a way to stop this!”

“There isn’t!” There is anger behind Ardyn’s words. 

“We fought the copies of the Astrals,” says Noctis. “Is there a way to defeat them properly?”

“You must fight me and release me from this prison,” says Ardyn with a theatric wave of his arm. “They put me here, you see, and they’ve never let me go. I’m the final piece—the one who keeps harmonixers from becoming the daemons they consume.” 

Regardless of whether this man is saddened by his state or not, it weighs heavily on Noctis to imagine what it was like to be trapped within this darkness for so long, caught behind those doors in wait for the next soul to appear. For the cycle of soul capturing be the only time company reaches Ardyn must make his life a lonely existence. 

“That’s a long time to be waiting,” says Noctis with some sympathy. 

“It is.” 

“Let me end your pain.”

Ardyn’s scourge vanishes for a flash of a second, revealing the face of a human behind the bleeding eyes. There’s pain and surprise in his expression.

“Let’s see you try,” Ardyn finally says, and when he lunges forward, both Ignis and Noctis are ready with their weapons. 

Despite having the advantage in numbers, Ardyn is quick on his feet and has the ability to warp. He can even create decoys, making it hard to always know exactly which one is the real Ardyn. It takes a while for Noctis to hunt him down among the mass of clones. The difference is the copies cannot talk, and the real Ardyn doesn’t mind vocally taunting them.

“Think you can defeat me?” sneers Ardyn. “I’ve been at this longer than you! I’ve had more souls than you have had years to live!” 

Noctis feels his sanity slipping a little faster within the darkness, especially when he shifts from one fusion to another in the attempt to keep up with Ardyn’s moves and tricks. He presses a fresh pure leaf to his tongue whenever he has a pause, hoping that the last of his stash will help him through this battle. 

“You’re wasting your time. I’ll just have you both.” 

Noctis would prefer Ardyn take him, too, rather than force him to live a life without Ignis. But he knows that if he dies this way, it will not be the same as when others die. A natural death means they can go to the Beyond…

But what Ardyn is offering them means the imprisonment of their souls as well as an end to their lives. They can never be reborn, and even the Émigré manuscript cannot be used to bring their souls back.

“I won’t be consumed by my daemons,” says Noctis, his sword clattering against Ardyn’s. “And you will be free from this hell.” 

“Free me, then!” It is mostly a dare, but Noctis detects the plea in the words. 

“I will,” he promises. 

It hurts him physically to keep up with Ardyn. Noctis continues through his dwindling supply of pure leaves and runs out of fusions as Ardyn proves the ineffectiveness of each one. Finally, it occurs to him to try something different. He slips the ring from his finger and holds it up to Ardyn, who backs away from the very sight of its pulsating red light.

“Do you want this?” asks Noctis. 

“Get that thing away from me,” snarls Ardyn.

Noctis drops it to the ground and steps on it. The ring crushes beneath the heel of his boot. The souls of the daemons he has defeated scream in anger and manifest from the tendrils pouring out of the broken ring. 

The souls swarm around Ardyn, swallowing him. Ichor bubbles out of his mouth, dripping down his chin, as they gather in him. Each one adds to the sickness that has already been built up inside of him. One after the other, they take over.

As they overwhelm him, Noctis makes eye contact with Ignis. A nod of confirmation is given. They both step forward and seize this opportunity to pierce Ardyn with sword and lance.

Ardyn collapses and begins to sizzle away into the darkness. 

Noctis reaches for Ignis’ hands and closes his eyes to focus on the feeling of the breath in his chest as the heaviness in the air dissipates. 

~*~

The ring is gone. Ardyn is gone. Outside the door, as they return to the graveyard, they find that the Astrals—or at least their copies—have also disappeared. 

Down the steps, they reach the crystal’s clearing. But the crystal is no longer there in its whole form. The shattered pieces lay across the ground. A figure stands over them. 

“Dad!” Noctis releases Ignis’ hand and runs forward. 

“Noct, that’s not—” 

The figure stares back at Noctis. The scourge pouring out of his eyes is gone. The person looking back at Noctis is himself.

Noctis stops before he comes any closer—before he crosses over the shards of crystal and reaches his doppelganger.

“You were never my dad.”

The other Noctis shakes his head. 

“You’re free now,” says the doppelganger. “You have always been afraid of yourself and of your power—afraid of the Ring of the Lucii. You turned away from it, but tonight…”

Nothing more has to be said. Tonight, Noctis has confronted that. He smashed the ring to free the daemons’ malice within. He passed beyond a door to save the man he loves.

“You did well,” says the doppelganger, closing his eyes and smiling. “Finally, we can be free.”

Little by little, like sand being moved by a current, the particles of his doppelganger break away and disappear into the air. The sight should alarm Noctis, but it doesn’t. It gives him comfort. The figure he always saw was not his father but something manifested from his own fear. 

Ignis joins him and takes his hand again.

“Let’s wake up,” says Noctis.

“Let’s go home,” agrees Ignis.


	7. Chapter 7

The malice in the world never goes away. It remains there, festering in people’s hearts, but never with the same ferocity as those months after its release from captivity in the Citadel. The daemons and the scourge disappeared along with the crystal and the ring. It gave the Lucians the time and peace to organize an attack against the Niflheim army. Many of the higher ups from the Empire had already succumb to the scourge and turned into daemons, but their citizens were willing to cooperate with Noctis and his people. 

Peace treaties followed, and the land of Tenebrae was restored to Lunafreya and Ravus. 

Ignis and Noctis are going to visit them, along with some of Ignis’ family. They’re taking a train from Cartanica. The warm sunlight of the evening heats Noctis’ shoulder, and the weight of Ignis’ head rests in the crook of his opposite arm. 

The train’s journey is soothing. They’ve had several difficult weeks since they defeated Ardyn, but after all the meetings and treaties and alliances formed by the survivors, there is hope for their world again. Noctis feels like a true king, but it is only because of the man beside him.

He no longer needs to worry for heirs or about having any. The line of Lucis will never fuse with monsters again. There are no people turning into monsters, and nothing is needed to protect the people from the malice. As long as they look into their own hearts and find the strength to change, the malice will never blow wildly out of control and force another prison or another system of harmonixers fighting against those overtaken by it.

Noctis is as human as he’ll ever be. The thought makes him smile.

The train shakes, and suddenly Ignis’ head slips from his shoulder. Noctis turns, and for a moment, his heartbeat quickens. Sometimes he’s still scared—after their fight with Ardyn—that something will come to claim Ignis.

But Ignis lifts his head, blinking and readjusting his glasses.

“Did I fall asleep?” asks Ignis. 

Noctis laughs. “Yeah, you fell asleep.” 

He kisses the man he decides at that moment he will soon marry. Maybe he’ll have Luna officiate the wedding when they get to Tenebrae. But first, they’re going to meet Ignis’ parents. Noctis might as well get permission to marry Ignis from them, first, just to continue with tradition of courtship, even if it is going to be one of the least conventional marriages in all of Lucis since the beginning of his line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter is based on the scene where Yuri and Alice are going to visit her family in Zurich. Depending on the end you get... Well, [this is the bad ending](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4WmJv7fc4AM). 
> 
> The bad ending is "canon" for the beginning of the next Shadow Hearts game, and if I had gone with that result, Ignis would have died. The friend who inspired this crossover of the two realms insisted I write the good ending.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'll have more chapters up soon. This story took over, and I don't think I'll be able to work on anything else until it is finished. :')


End file.
